


|| Not Today ||

by burntspinach (deliciouslycrzy)



Series: Between The Lines [1]
Category: Independence Day (1996), Independence Day: Resurgence (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fix-it fic, Hurt/Comfort, I needed to fix the end of Resurgence and so I did, ID4 2 spoilers, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-25 10:28:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7529218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliciouslycrzy/pseuds/burntspinach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Milton Isaacs died in a dark, cold room in the middle of the world's second alien invasion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was jokingly named 'Not Fucking Today' in my drafts because that was basically my reaction to what happened at the end of the movie. I hope you all enjoy!

A groan pierced the air, and only too late did Brackish notice that Milton hadn’t leapt up to celebrate their rescue. He spun around and shattered glass crunching loudly underneath the soles of his boots as he stumbled over to where Milton had fallen.

Everything else fell away as he took in the sight before him.

 Blood quickly staining the floor blood, crimson spreading across the crisp white of Milton’s coat from where he had been hit. The mangled and bloody hole in Milton’s leg. _Oh god._

 Brackish fell to his knees, ignoring the jarring pain that wanted to remind him that he wasn’t as young as he’d been the day before _._ “ You’re gonna be okay,” He began, his voice trembling in spite of his words. There was just- so much blood.“ I’ll get you to sickbay.”

Milton’s laugh was quiet and choked, but it was a precious thing that Brackish clung to like a lifeline, his eyes flickering up to his partners. His face was white and strained, but a weak smile curled his mouth. “ We still don’t call it sickbay, baby.” His fingers fluttered against Brackish’s, before his grip tightened and he pulled their clasped hands down to his thigh, where the worst of the damage was.

 “ I need you- apply pressure. Here.”

 Or able to give medical advice.

 Brackish’s stomach turned when his fingers pressed against raw flesh, but he choked it down and did as Milton asked; there were many things that Milton was better at than he was, and dealing with bloodied, human injuries was one of them. Aliens, he could handle, but this? He inhaled deeply through his nose.

" What next?”

No answer. Brackish felt his heart stop in his throat and he readjusted. Milton’s eyes had flickered shut, but his chest was moving, albeit raggedly. “ Milton!” Brackish felt frantic, but he forced himself to remember what he knew about wounds like this- bleeding from a limb, you had to-

 He ripped off a strip of fabric from Milton’s labcoat and tied a tight, quick tourniquet before letting his free hand reach up to the other man’s face. He pressed his thumb gently against his cheek, brushing undering the frame of Milton’s glasses. His eyelids flickered open, eyes dull for a moment and then bright and sad all at once.

 Brackish let out a relieved groan and grinned loosely. “ Good, good, Mil, you need to stay awake, babe.”

 “ I need to tell you something-”

 “No, tell me later- you can tell me later, what do I do next?”

 “ Brackish.”

“ _No._ You can’t- who’s going to water the orchids? You know that I won’t remember. They’ll die.” His voice cracked and he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Milton was watching him, and had reached up to grab the scarf around his neck loosely. Brackish hadn’t even noticed.

 “This was...Supposed to be a sweater.” He admitted, tone somewhat crestfallen

 “ Wait- really? How-”

 “ I’m not very good at knitting.” Milton’s mouth twitched, and then spread into a tired smile.

 Brackish smiled too, a hysterical little laugh bubbling in the back of his throat even as he blinked back tears. He wanted to do something, he _had to_ , but all he could do was smile and wonder what he had done to deserve someone like Milton. “ You’re perfect, baby.” He said thickly, “ Milton-”

 But his eyes had closed, and Milton’s hand had fallen motionless and limp to his chest.

 Brackish felt something in his own chest crack, white hot and furious. He had just come back- twenty years and Milton had waited for him, and this wasn’t how it was supposed to end.

 “ _No._ No, no-” He remembered the training he had received decades ago, from Milton. How to restart a heart if you didn’t have paddles. Because apparently it was something that the doctor thought he would need someday and they’d had a Sunday afternoon to waste.

 He heard noise from the door, the accountant and the soldier shouting that they were coming, more were coming. The _things_ that he had studied for so long, almost admired, the things that had killed Milton.

 “ Keep them off of us!” He shouted, and threw himself into action, ignoring the pain in his own chest as he straddled his partner and began chest compressions.

  _One._

 Ignoring the cracking sounds.

_Two._

 Ignoring the shouting.

_Three._

 

-/-

 

" And... Four."

 There was a calm exuberance in the air as people began to filter out from Area 51 to the sight of the defeated Queen, even as the wreckage of the alien ships smoked around them, to talk and celebrate, to discover who had lived and who had not. And, at least for a few of the children from the bus, to throw rocks at the dead queen.

 David smiled.

 He was seated on the the steps of the bus, his long legs folded almost up to his chin to accommodate for the small space. He was in the midst of the excitement but removed enough for his liking- he could see it all, but be as uninvolved as he liked, or needed.

 Catherine stood nearby, bent over her tablet, though she looked up when she heard David speak. " Four?" She asked, moving to peer around the doorway at him.

 " Oh, uh- just counting exactly how many strays my father is going to bring home this time. It's four. Five if you count the dog." He added, his head cocked to the side. He stretched out his long limbs with a groan, and then gripped the frame of the doorway and yanked himself up and out into the hot desert. He settled next to Catherine, leaning against the side of the old bus and ignoring the creaking noise it made.

 “ You sound like he does this a lot.” She commented.

 “ Oh, when I was a kid he’d always be bringing home whoever he thought needed a warm meal and a roof over their head.” His mouth quirked into a lopsided smile. “ I thought it was annoying back then, because I was a moody teenage boy who still thought he was a moody teenage girl. But its grown on me a bit.”

 They fell into another companionable silence for a time, the only sound that David could hear beyond the general hum of the crowd being his own breath and the tap of Catherine’s fingertips against her tablet screen. Eventually, the sounds slowed to a trickle, and then stopped.

 “ Do you think that she’s okay?” David looked back up; Catherine was staring off into the distance,

 “ I don’t really know what the definition of okay for an alien ball is- it’s in one piece, right?”   
  
“ _David._ ”

“ Alright, uh- let’s go. We’ll ask her.”

 David and Catherine carefully picked through the throngs of people, the both of them silent as they made their way towards the sphere. It was sitting off from the crowds, lights inactive and seemingly forgotten. From the deliberate amount of space between everyone and the sphere, however, David could clearly see that no one had forgotten.

 They just didn’t know how to react, and he didn’t blame them.

 All of this had been done to protect the sphere, and they still didn’t know if it had been worth it. _He_ still didn’t know, and the thought disquieted him. Each step that they took closer to the sphere reminded him of everything that he didn’t know. From the moment he had seen it’s spacecraft, David had believed it wasn’t an enemy, but could it really help them? It hadn’t sounded very impressed before, and its dismissive attitude of everything they had done had rankled him.

 They stopped just short of the sphere’s shadow.

 Uh- sphere?” Nothing. The lights remained dark, and it didn’t move. David looked closely at the sphere. He didn’t see any cracks or abrasions from the fall on the sphere’s hard shell, and taking a turn around the sphere didn’t reveal any reason why it wouldn’t respond. It was possible the Queen had broken it when she had fell, but considering the level of technology this sphere was purported to have, David doubted that a simple fall would do it in. He grunted in irritation as he came back around to where Catherine was still standing, and shrugged his shoulders.  

“ I don’t know if she’s dead or just unconscious.”

 “ She was activated by touch the last time.” And Catherine stepped forward, deliberately placing her hand against the sphere’s curved surface. David’s eyes widened and he moved to her side, placing a cautious hand on the doctor’s shoulder.

 “ Catherine-”

 Before she could respond, the sphere shook. Both David and Catherine stumbled back, their hands finding the other in the shuffle and clasping tight. A collective gasp rose from the crowd of people behind them.

 Slowly, the sphere lit up, as if taking caution. Once she realized that she didn’t recognize either of the people who had woken it, the sphere rolled back abruptly, looking as startled as David and Catherine felt.

 “ Are you alright? That, uh- the queen didn’t hurt you, did she?”

 The sphere ignored him and then rolled forward, and then around again. It seemed like she was searching for something, or someone. Once she had accepted that whoever it was that she was looking for wasn’t there, she turned back to them.

 “ Where is the doctor?”

 Catherine spoke up first, “ If you need medical attention-”

 The sphere’s lights flashed. “ No- the doctor who I was with in isolation. Doctor Okun.”

 David tugged on his earlobe and then turned around, looking over the mass of people, all of whom had slowly closed the distance between themselves and the sphere, for the sight of scraggly gray hair or a balding brunette. He hadn’t actually known the man very well, but after two decades of friendship with Milton, it felt like he did, and the fact that Brackish hadn’t already been here, to check on the sphere first, was the first indicator that something was wrong.

 He looked down at Catherine with a frown, and she shook her head. He looked back up. “ Has, uh- anyone seen Doctor Okun?”

A quiet hush fell over the desert as all eyes settled on him, and David suddenly felt very conscious of the fact that he absolutely _hated_ crowds.

 The first one to step forward, surprisingly, was Dekembe. He had seemed to appear out of nowhere, along with the accountant, which was another surprise for David. He had assumed that Floyd would be one of the first to go.

 Huh. Good for him.

 “ He is in medical. With his partner. The doctor was badly injured in the attack.” The words didn’t quite register with David at first, and it took a moment of staring blandly between Dekembe and the sphere before it kicked in, sinking like a stone in his stomach.

 “ Wait- which doctor? They’re ah- they’re both doctors. ” He asked, but was ignored, or unheard.

 The sphere’s lights blinked impatiently. “ I need to speak to him.”

 “ I do not think that he will want to see you right now.” It was Dekembe’s tone was final and somber, and David swallowed thickly, eyes wide. The sphere rolled back, as if chastised.“ They do not think that Doctor Isaacs is going to make it.”

 And here it was, the other shoe, just waiting to drop.

 “ Where in medical?”

 

-/-/-

 

The doors to the operating room corridor swung shut with a whoosh of air and with it muted the sounds of the nurses barking instructions at one another and the frantic beeping of the heart rate monitors. Brackish stood numb and wide-eyed before the doors, ringing his aching hands as he tried and failed to calm his own racing heart.

 Milton’s heart had stopped. Only for a few minutes, but a few minutes could be everything. If he pulled through surgery after all of that blood loss, if he made it through the night- would he ever wake again? He wasn’t a doctor of medicine, but he was smart enough to know that there just wasn’t anyway _to_ know. It was all chance, and luck, and the hope that Milton’s doctors were as skilled as they said they were.

 “ Doctor Okun?”

 “ I’m Eric. I’m your nurse. Well, was your nurse, when Doctor Isaacs wasn’t there, doing my job for me.” The young man gave him a small, comforting smile, as if he hadn’t punched Brackish in the guts with his words. Milton, Milton had taken care of him for twenty years, had stood by his side when he hadn’t had to. Had remained hopeful and loving and _himself_ for twenty years, only to be struck down because Brackish had foolish.

 They hadn’t needed to be in the chamber with the sphere. They could have been somewhere else, _anywhere_ else. But Brackish had been curious, and had thought that no time would be better than the opportunity presented then. So he had volunteered them both to enter isolation with the sphere, and of course, Milton had followed him without question.

 Brackish swallowed thickly, a hand pressed to his forehead as he looked away from Eric in an attempt to compose himself. It didn’t work. “ What happened with the battle? The queen?” He finally asked, his voice thick.

Eric blinked, as if out of all of the questions he had been expecting, that hadn’t been one of them. “ Um, well, we won. I just came in from outside- there’s a lot of injured, but few casualties. We were very lucky.”

 “ And the sphere?”

 “ The sphere?” Eric asked, looking at him quizzically. Brackish wanted to snap at him, ask him if he had even been paying attention this whole time, but he was too tired. Instead he just he shook his head in irritation and waved Eric off.

 “ I’ll  find out myself.” And with that he was gone.

 Brackish made his way through the winding hallways of the hospital wing, following the exit signs and the rush of nurses and doctors back and forth. He saw more injured than dead, but he didn’t once stop, only continued to move until he found himself in front of the exit, the doors closed but the windows showing him the bluest of skies.

 And he stopped. Hand on the door’s handle, heart in his throat and the scent of fresh air and smoke already heavy in his lungs even with the door shut. It had been more than forty years since he had stepped foot from beneath a roof or the mountain top, and even with everything that he could learn if he just stepped outside, he still hesitated.

  _"When this is all over, Brackish- we’ll go camping. Just you and me and the stars - how about that? You can bring your watercolors and I’ll bring some books, and we’ll just spend a few weeks outside. Maybe even more. Whatever you’d like. When this is all over, we’ll walk out those doors together.”_

 It had been a silly little promise, whispered to him in the dark on one of the worst nights, when the weight of all the years he had been living in Area 51 without stepping outside hung on him heaviest, along with all of the years they still had to go. When Milton had gripped him tight and whispered comforting words in his ear and kissed along his neck and told him how much he loved him.

 It felt like just yesterday, and Brackish found that he just didn’t have the strength in him to go any further.

 Not without Milton.

 He turned his back on the doors and began to walk, every step heavy and uncertain because now, he didn’t have a plan or even anything particularly pressing that he could use to distract himself while he waited for news on Milton’s condition.

 He had nothing but time, so he just kept walking.

Eventually his feet lead him back to his hospital room, and though he was tempted to keep on going, he resisted the urge and opened the door. He entered with the absent-minded thought that he might change his clothes, the sleeves of his labcoat and sweater stained brown with dried blood, and then keep walking. 

But instead, his gaze fell on the flowers.

Brackish slowly stepped up to the window sill, reaching out to gently brush his fingers against the petals of one of the many orchids. His eyes which had dried by this point, filled once more with tears.He hadn’t noticed them before, too consumed with the excitement of being awake and of all the new challenges and technology. They were Milton’s, of course they were, lovingly tended and cultivated and brought _here._ Milton had known how much Brackish loved the outdoors, flowers and orchids in particular, and he had often brought new specimens to brighten up their living quarters.

And he hadn’t stopped, even while Brackish was unconscious.

He pressed his face into his hands and doubled over, choking back a painful sob that threatened to take him to his knees. The unfairness of it all knocked the wind out of him- twenty years Milton had waited for him patiently, and what had he gotten in return? A few hours. A hurried kiss on the forehead. And a laser blast to the leg. Would this have happened if Brackish hadn’t awoken? If he had stayed asleep, would Milton still be  watching over him, tending the orchids and brushing his hair and cleaning his glasses?

Brackish forced himself back upright and turned to make his way to the door, only to find Director David Levinson trying and failing to sneak out of the room without being noticed.

“ What are you doing here?” He snapped, more irritated at being interrupted than embarrassed, and David jumped.

 “ You know, uh- usually when I come in here you’re a lot more… horizontal.” There was a long, awkward silence as Brackish stared at David unamused and David squirmed, as if just realizing that now was not the time for ice-breaking jokes.

 This went on for several minutes, and Brackish hoped that the man would give up on whatever had brought him here and leave him alone.

 David didn’t seemed to take the hint, however and after another beat of silence, spoke.“ Sorry. I just- wanted to know how Milton was.” His tone was quiet and apologetic, and Brackish deflated.

 “ Oh.” They had been friends, David and Milton, Brackish remembered now, and he felt a little bit like an ass. But only a little. “ He’s in surgery.” He took a breath, and considered biting his tongue and stopping there.  

 “ He lost a lot of blood. I made a tourniquet and did chest compressions when he stopped breathing, and got his heart started again, but I don’t know- I don’t know if it was in time. His leg was mangled, there was so much _blood._ Those blasters- do a lot of damage. They don’t know if they’ll be able to save his leg, or if he’ll make it through surgery, or if he’ll even wake up. I don’t know.” Each word was like a drumbeat in his chest, hammering home all of the uncertainty, and his voice raised from a whisper to almost a shout with each admission.

 He wrung his hands nervously, digging his nails into his palms as more tears prickled at his eyes.

  _Baby, breathe. It’ll be okay. You’re going to overexert yourself._

 It was David’s turn for a simple, pained, “Oh,” and Brackish’s shoulders slumped, his anger and grief and any other words spoken escaping him like air from a deflated balloon, leaving only numbness. There was nothing else he could say about it, so he looked away, once again hoping that David would get the hint and leave.

And once again.

 “ You know, I got Milton into this knitting classes. Well. I convinced him to tag along because the instructor was very- cute. His name was Salvador. Very good with his hands. Knitting, I mean. He made very beautiful sweaters.” David stopped to let out a sigh,“ Milton was a very good sport about it, he always was. And he was very proud of - that. He couldn’t wait to show you.”

 Brackish took in a breath that felt like the first unhindered one he had taken in hours and he looked away from the door and back to David. “ He loves trying new things.” He felt lighter when he  turned back to the window and picked up the watering can, and this time the army of orchids on the sill didn’t look nearly as daunting as they had before.

 He heard the sound of David stepping across the tile, and the squeak of a body sinking into the couch. Instead of being angry, he was relieved. The waiting was easier with words to fill the silence, and it sounded like David had plenty of words for them both.

 “ Did you end up making anything?”

 “ A very, very sad hat.” David bit his tongue and then chuckled. “ I think it’s in a drawer, somewhere.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The waiting continues.

**_\- Two decades previously -_ **

_ “ Milton, we know what this means- they’re here. Or at least close by- why haven’t we heard anything? Bradley, get those scanners up into the ship, stat- we don’t have much time. You would think that Nimziki would have contacted us by now, what do you think that means?”  _

_ “ I don’t know- there hasn’t been any outside communication. The Major said that he’ll keep us informed.” Milton responded; he was bent over one of the nearby tables, pencil clenched between his fingers as he scribbled out a quick note, and so he didn’t notice at first that Brackish was swaying on his feet.  It had been three days since the power had been restored to the ship, and just as many since either of them had seen their own bed. _

_ Brackish didn’t notice either, until he made to make a sharp turn and instead lost his balance. He would have fallen flat on his ass if it hadn’t been for Milton, rushing to his side to catch him, looping his arms around his chest and hoisting him up. Milton sighed softly and Brackish let himself sink into his partners arms for a moment, the rush of his thoughts and anxieties about whatever it was that was coming for them slowing to a momentary peaceful trickle. _

_ In a moment it was over, when one of the many scurrying assistants stopped and stared for just a moment too long. Brackish grimaced and righted himself, and Milton’s grip on him loosened so he could step away. “ Thanks.” He murmured, running an agitated hand through his hair before he turned to continue his restless pacing. There was just so much to do, so much they could learn, and his excitement warred with his nerves. _

_ Milton’s hand snagged his own, fingers gently wrapping around Brackish’s shaking ones and preventing him from going any further. He looked at Milton, squinting when his vision wouldn’t unblur. _

_ “ Brackish, you need to sleep.” Milton said matter-of-factedly. There were bags under his own eyes, and Brackish had known Milton long enough to know that he was _

_ “ Are you saying I look tired?”  _

_ “ Yes I am.” _

_ “ There’s no time to sleep, babe- they’re coming! We don’t have much left to experiment, we need to find out all that we can so-” _

_ "Brackish. The team knows what to do.” _

_ “ Yeah, but-” _

_ “ Baby.” _

_ Not even ten minutes later they were curled up together in their bed, completely clothed and entangled with one another. Milton had been out the moment his head had hit the pillow, and Brackish shortly after. An alarm had been set, but they wouldn’t end up needing it. _

_ Not even ten minutes later they were in their own bed, the door shut, the lights off and an alarm set. Neither of them had bothered with getting undressed, opting instead to simply collapse onto the mattress so they didn’t waste any time. Milton was asleep first, body pressed up against Brackish’s back, face buried in his hair. His breath and quiet snores tickled the back of his neck, and Brackish let out a content sigh before he too, fell asleep, all thoughts of the alien ship and what it meant gone, at least for now. _

_ “ Director Okun! Director-” _

_ - _

“ Director, wake up- the president is on his way.” 

At first, he thought that it was Major Mitchell and Brackish raised an irritated hand to wave him away. He twisted to bury his face into Milton’s shoulder, but instead of the wrinkled fabric of a labcoat, he found only the back of the chair he had fallen asleep in. Brackish squinted in confusion- where had Milton gone?  The alarm hadn’t gone off yet. He reached out blindly for his glasses, groping the arms of the chair before he realized they were still on his face. 

He opened his eyes and readjusted his glasses, ready to give Mitchell crap for disturbing them- he  _ knew  _ better, the idiot. “What do you-”

Across the room, some kid in a rumpled suit was shaking David awake.  _ Right. _

“ Director Levinson, wake up!”

“Abby, Abby- I’m not here. Tell the president I’m not here.”    
“  _ Director Levinson.”  _

He could hear them continuing to talk in low voices, but he tuned them both out.

Brackish pressed his hands to his face as he leaned forward, dragging his fingers down to rub the sleep from his eyes. He wasn’t the director anymore, something which hadn’t particularly bothered him when he had found out, and rankled him now simply because his brain seemed intent on confusing him. The dream had felt so real and he couldn’t shake it. Milton pressed up against him, the bone-dead tiredness that had came from three all-nighters in a row, his anxiety about what was coming-

His stomach flipped uncomfortably in his stomach and he groaned quietly into his hands. How long had he been asleep? With the sun still out, it couldn’t have been long, but Milton’s condition was still touch and go. Anything could have happened while he was asleep-  _ how could he have fallen asleep? _

He let his hands fall so he could check his watch, the surface smudged with red.

Brackish ignored the smudge deliberately and peered at the hands. After a moment, he let out out a sigh of relief. He had only been out for a half hour, if that. He stood slowly, raising a hand to rub the back of his neck in an attempt to get the kinks out.

Milton had to be out of surgery by now, or close enough to it that there had to be some answers waiting for him. He made his way over to the dresser by the bed, where a sweatshirt was folded neatly.

Brackish pulled off his lab coat, pushing down the sudden wave of nausea when his fingers brushed over the stiff, rust colored stains on the sleeves. He tossed it down onto the bed, quickly followed by the sweater he was wearing, and then yanked the clean hoodie on over his undershirt. It was soft and warm and too big for him, and he realized only after he had pulled it on that it wasn’t his. He gripped the collar and brought the gathered fabric up to his nose, and inhaled deeply.

It still smelled like Milton, the mild scent of his favorite cologne still clinging tightly to the old sweatshirt. His chest felt tight as he wondered if Milton would ever get the chance to take this back from him. He looked down, and smiled when he noticed what was on it.

Even after all of these years, Milton still loved Star Trek.

Brackish breathed deep, and then raised his chin and bobbed his head, as if making up his mind about something. He headed for the door, at it was only then that David’s assistant noticed him and strode over to him with a determined grimace.

“ Doctor Okun, the president wants to speak with you too.”

Brackish paused for a moment, his hand already on the doorknob. The urge to get back to work was strong and he knew it would be just the distraction he needed to keep himself from being overwhelmed again. But he also knew, without a single doubt, that once he dove into whatever the president was asking of him, there would be no resurfacing until it was finished.

And Milton needed him.

Decision made, He shook his head in irritation and yanked the door open.“ Tell the president that, respectfully, I don’t give a rat’s ass what he wants.” And Brakish disappeared down the hall, leaving Abigail standing with her mouth agape as she tried to figure out how to explain that to President Adams.

“ I-”

“ Just tell him that you couldn’t find Doctor Okun- actually, I’ll tell him. We haven’t seen Doctor Okun all afternoon, have we, Abby?” 

“ I- right. Of course, Director.”

-/-

“ You are not afraid of me.” 

“ I am not, no.” After many years spent studying and aiding those who had been affected adversely by the aliens, directly or indirectly, Catherine had come to trust what her patients felt and expressed to her about what they had experienced, and every single affected person she had spoken to had said that the sphere was not a danger to them. She believed wholeheartedly that the sphere, though unique and strange, had only come to help them, not to hurt them. 

And so, Catherine had felt no apprehension at all in following the sphere when it had relocated itself to the hangar bay, despite the wary looks that she had gotten from the president and his entourage. The opinion of a president of a country that wasn’t hers meant little to her, and the opinion of a  _ man  _ like the president even less.

“ Is that why you won’t speak to anyone?” Catherine was sitting at one of the workstations, her back to the desk and her tablet propped up in her lap. She had taken detailed notes throughout the past few days, documenting everything she had learned so far about the connection between the aliens and humans- it was so much, even more than she had been able to scrape together over the past few years, and she knew she would need months to be able to

The sphere whirred softly, it’s slow and methodical rotations around the hangar bay slowing as it came to stop in front of her.  “ I do not blame them for being afraid.” Her tone was melodic and soothing, despite it being artificial, and Catherine leaned forward in interest.

“ Their fear nearly killed you. I wouldn’t blame  _ you  _ for being unwilling to speak to us.” She pressed on, and the sphere’s lights flickered. Catherine wondered if she had touched a nerve, but didn’t say anything.

“ It isn’t that.You are all much more than I expected. No one has ever killed a harvester queen before, not even I, and with the technology that you have, you should not have lasted this long.” There was a silence, and then; “ I misjudged your species, I apologize.” 

Catherine felt a warmth in her chest, and she gave the sphere a small smile.“ Thank you. Though I believe that if I were you, I would have misjudged us, too. Shooting you down moments after meeting is not a very good first impression.”

“ I must say that only a few first encounters were as exciting as this.” Catherine wondered if that was humor in the sphere’s tone, or if she was imagining it. She knew for a fact she wasn’t imagining the slight lilt to the creature’s voice, and the vast improvement of their use of english in so short of time. She wouldn’t be surprised if they had mastered humor just as quickly, too.

Catherine jotted down a few extra notes with her stylus, aware of the fact that the sphere had rolled closer and seemed to be examining her tablet. 

“ You have been studying them.” 

  
“ Yes. Well- their connection to us. Some of our people were…  _ linked,  _ I believe is the best way to put it, to the aliens during the first invasion. My theory has been that they were all already sensitive to transmitted thought before this happened, but there isn’t any physical proof. Do you know anything about it?” 

“ Yes.”

Catherine sat up in her seat attentively, and it was that paired with the whiteness of her fingertips gripping her stylus that gave away her sudden excitement. The sphere had fought the aliens before, and had worked with multitudes of other races from throughout the stars- the information that they had to have. “ Can you tell me?” Catherine asked, and the sphere was silent.

She held her breath.

“ It would be simpler to show you. As I showed Doctor Okun earlier.” 

Catherine, ready to jump to work at the invitation, stopped herself just short of the sphere as she realized something. She pulled her hands back and clasped them in front of her, and the sphere’s lights brightened noticeably. “Is there something I can call you? I do not know your name.”

“ What would you like to call me?” The sphere interestingly, did not respond to the second part of her question. Catherine made a mental note to think about that more later.

“ That isn’t how names work.” 

“ Do humans choose their own names?” Curiosity colored their tone, and their lights twinkled. Catherine settled back on her heels and clasped her hands behind her back instead; she bit the inside of her cheek as she considered the question. 

“ Sometimes. If they feel that the name they were given at birth doesn’t fit them any longer, or never did. Or if they need a change for some reason or another. I chose mine.” Catherine answered.

“ Why?”   
“ The name I was given at birth wasn’t right, I suppose.”    
“ How long did it take you to decide that your chosen name was the correct one?”    
“ Oh- it was many years.” 

“May I think about it, Doctor?” 

Catherine smiled, and gave the sphere a brisk nod. “ Take as much time as you need. Now- are you ready to get to work?” 

-/-

Brackish stopped in the doorway, suddenly feeling all of the years that he had missed hanging heavily on his shoulders. Milton looked so small and old and frail lying in the hospital bed, hooked up to all sorts of monitors and tubes that were monitoring his lifesigns- he was stable for now, and had made it out of surgery with barely a hiccup, but as Doctor O’Brien had told him, that didn’t mean much.

His heart had been stopped for two minutes. Not long, but long enough that the doctors were worried about his brain activity. Worried that he might never be able to breath on his own, let alone wake up.

Had they been twenty years younger, perhaps this wouldn’t be as devastating. Bodies were sturdy and able to recover from a lot when they were young, but Milton wasn’t. Sixty-four years old and with all of the blood loss that he’d had, the doctors had considered it a miracle that he had made it through the surgery. They hadn’t been able to save his leg, and though O’Brien had mentioned the possibility of prosthetics, Brackish hadn’t been listening. That could could come later. If it came at all.

Doctor O’Brien had been careful to only say ‘if’ and not ‘when’, Brackish had noticed immediately, and that in and of itself was terrifying.

Modern medicine was much more advanced than it had been when he’d last been awake, but there still wasn’t much they could do about oxygen being deprived to the brain. They-  _ Brackish  _ just had to wait, and pray that he hadn’t been too late.

Brackish took a step inside the room and then stopped abruptly. He clasped his hands together and wrung them until his knuckles were white and there were nailmarks in his palm, but his heartbeat had calmed and he could take another step. The walk from here the first time, the walk back- neither had been as difficult as these few steps. Then he hadn’t known  _ anything,  _ but now he did.

And for one of the first times in his life, knowing what he was getting into actually made it harder.

He took in a deep breath, gripped his hands into fists at his sides to keep them from flapping, and took the final steps up to Milton’s side and sat down in the chair next to his bed. He scooted his seat forward until his knees were pressed against the side of the bed and then reached out, softly taking Milton’s hand into his. His eyes settled on Milton’s closed ones and let out a deep breath, trying not to let his thoughts settle on whether or not he would ever see those eyes again.

Another breath, sharper this time, because it was impossible not to think it. His mind ran a mile a minute, running through every possible scenario;  _ Milton dies. Milton never wakes. Twenty years down the line, Milton does wake but he’s already gone. The doctors messed up. The doctors don’t, but he did. He was too late. He wasn’t.   _

His chest shuddered and Brackish tightened his grip on Milton’s fingers, trying to grasp on to  _ something  _ solid, something that would make the oppressive silence of the room easier to handle. Talking had helped earlier, but there was no one in the room.

_ You know, he talked to you all of the time. He’s a real jabberbox in this room. _

He took a shuddering breath.

“ Hey, babe. I know you’re… I don’t know if you can hear me. I’m not very good at this, so if you can, sorry. Twenty years of being the listener will do that to a guy.” He squeezed Milton’s hand gently and stopped; he was waiting for a reaction, or something. When it didn’t come, he let out quiet, but still irritated sigh and continued. “ Yes, I heard you. I’m sure I don’t remember everything, but- I know you talked to me. At first I thought it was just dreams, or- I don’t know, some wild effect of the alien hivemind, which was far out- I still don’t really understand, but then again, I’m not sure that I want to.” He stopped, his words rough and his throat sore, and he looked down at their entwined fingers.

“I don’t know how you did this for twenty years, Mil. I can barely manage a few minutes.” He murmured, as he examined their entwined fingers. Milton’s hands were worn and old, but well taken care of, as they had always been, a surgeon’s hands. Brackish had always loved his partner’s hands. He fidgeted with the metal band around Milton’s ring finger, struck with a sense of melancholy at the sight of the little band.

The band was worn with age, and though it was dull compared to how bright it had been the day the rings had been cast, it still shone brightly in the dimming day’s light.

“ Do you remember when we made these, babe? I don’t think that waffle iron was ever the same, but they came out gorgeous, so it doesn’t matter.” He stopped abruptly, and then started again. “ I haven’t been able to find mine, but you must have it somewhere. We’ll find it together when you wake up, then- hey. We can go get married. Hell, I’ll drag a rabbi in here the moment you wake up, if that’s what you want. Whatever you’d like.” 

Milton’s silence was deafening, but Brackish kept on trying.

“ I watered the orchids. They’re beautiful, baby.” His voice cracked and he grimaced, and he switched tangent.  “ I borrowed your sweatshirt- I don’t know if you’ll get it back, it’s very soft. I might just buy you another one.” His free hand twisted in the cuff of the sleeve and he smiled.

“ I love that you’re still… you.” The smile faded, and he looked up, suddenly lost. 

“ I-”

He didn’t even know what he had been planning to say at that point, but it caught in the back of his throat and he fell silent. His grip tighten on Milton’s hand and he raised their clasped fingers so he could press his lips to his partner’s knuckles.

Unseen by Brackish, Milton’s eyelids flickered softly. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit different from the last two chapters, as we step closer to a resolution.

_ He is sixty five and he doesn’t know what he wants. _

_ -/ _

Milton dreamed.

_ -/ _

_ He was a boy again. _

_ He was six years old and he was sneaking out the window in his bedroom and up the fire escape, to the window on the fourth floor where he would find his best friend waiting for him. He was writing notes in the dew on the window. He was smiling at the boy on the other side and hoping dawn never came. He was mouthing ‘ i love you’. He was crawling back into bed in the wee hours of dawn and falling asleep happy even though his toes are numb and his face covered in bug bites, and he’s goings to sleep through his birthday breakfast.  _

_ He was happy.  _

_ -/ _

“ You’ve always been stubborn, baby. You’ve got- you can do it. Just keep on… Don’t leave me.” 

_ -/ _

_ He’s a young man again.  _

_ He was thirty five years old and its his birthday, celebrated in one of the kitchens in Area 51 with  everyone except for the grouchy soldier in charge of them this time around. There’s a cake in his favorite flavor with frosting that ends up on his nose and more alcohol than he’s ever consumed in his life, there’s laughter and drunken sloppy neck kisses from Brackish, who hangs off of him like a monkey the whole night. He’s warm and happy with the people he loves, the family he’s been dragged into, and with the  spider monkey he calls his boyfriend. _

_ He doesn’t remember the words Brackish mumbled into his ear, he doesn’t remember that it took three days for the stubble burn to fade or how long his hangover lasted or how exactly he and Brackish ended up toppling into the cake, but he remembers laughing and remembers warmth and he remembers how light he felt when Brackish told him that he loved him. _

_ -/ _

There was a hand on his and a head lying against against his chest.

“ I love you. I haven’t said it- I- why didn’t I  _ say it.  _ You waited for me for twenty damned years and I couldn’t even take two minutes to tell you that I love you. I’m sorry. I’m so- I’m selfish. I should have told you. I should have kissed you properly, I should have-” The voice broke and Milton’s heart ached, and he wanted to squeeze Brackish’s hand and kiss him and tell him that everything was okay.

But the fog was too thick, and his fingers wouldn’t move.

_ /- _

_ He’s a teenager again. _

_ He’s seventeen years old and he’s crying into his sister's shoulder on the fire escape. _

_ She’s holding him close and telling him that its going to be okay. That they’re going to be okay. She takes his hand and squeezes and kisses his forehead, against the worst of his  bruises. She tells him that she won’t let anyone hurt him again. She flashes the old leather wallet that she stole out from under their grandfathers nose and smiles. ‘We’ll be okay.’ She repeats.  _

_ Milton smiles with his swollen lip.  _

_ -/- _ _   
_ “ I called your sister. She should be here soon. She said that you talk about me all the time. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve turned into a jabbermouth while I was asleep. I thought you were just excited, but this is… How you are now.” The words were said humorously, but at the end they cracked. He felt fingers squeeze his. 

“ Talk to me, baby.  _ Please.  _ “   
  


-/-

_ He’s old. _

_ He’s forty five years old but he feels so much older as he sits in his sister's kitchen. Her home, tucked into the rural countryside of New England, has felt none of the repercussions of the invasion and for a moment Milton can pretend that it never happened. That its two years ago and when he goes home Brackish will be waiting for him with a kiss and then a long-winded report of everything that he’s missed while he’s gone.  _

_ He presses his face into his hands and tries not to sob when he thinks that the only thing Brackish will be able to tell him is that he’s still alive through the rise and fall of his chest, and even that is a miracle that he still doesn’t know if he’s ready to be grateful for or not. _

_ His sister is watching him, her eyes as old and as sad as they had been three decades ago. Tell me about him,’ she says firmly, as she places a bowl of soup in front of him hard enough that some of it slops down onto the counter.  Her hand settles on his shoulder and Milton’s chest heaves.  _

_ ‘ He loved me.’  _ _   
_ _ -/ _

“ We won. I don’t know if I told you that already, and I’ll probably have to tell you again when you wake up. We won. The sphere made it.” Brackish sounded the least enthusiastic he had ever been.

“ It - she- wanted to talk to me. If this had ended differently- but I can’t. If I get… You know how I get. And I’m going to be here when you wake up, I promise. I’ll be right here this whole time. So- take your time, baby. Take as much time as you need.”

-/-

_ He’s twenty six years old and he’s waking Brackish Okun for the first time and has nothing on his mind besides absent thoughts about the man’s vitals and some of the strange wounds that he had seen when he had first been brought in. It’s his job to heal, not to think about cause, but that has never stopped Milton. The man’s face is serene in sleep, handsome in spite (or perhaps because of) the long, matted brown hair. Milton is considering asking one of the nurses to cut it when Brackish’s eyelids flicker. _

_ Then he’s dodging a fist to the face. _

_ He’s twenty six years old and he’s waking Brackish Okun for the second time and he’s assuming that its going to go much more smoothly than the day before. He’s had the nurse bring something simple for the young man to eat, a bowl of oatmeal that she sets on the side table before leaving the room. Milton smiles and reaches out to gently touch Brackish’s shoulder.  _

_ When Brackish flails and accidentally kicks the oatmeal across the room with deceptively powerful chicken legs, Milton Isaacs is considering a career change.  _

_ He’s twenty six years old and he’s waking Brackish Okun for the fifth day in a row and this time he’s brough backup, an orderly and the same nurse from the day before. He’s still smarting from tripping into the door the last time Brackish jumped awake, and he’s not taking any chances. _

_ He’s twenty six years old and he wants to know what terrible thing he did that earned him the illustrious job of dodging  Brackish Okun dirty, gnarled hippy feet from kicking him in the face every  _ **_single_ ** _ morning., and he wonders how hard his sister is going to laugh at him when he tells her what he did this week.  _

_ He’s twenty six years old and he’s standing in the dark of the hospital room, listening to his patient’s frightened, half-asleep mumblings that make no sense but still set fear in his heart and an uneasiness at the unknown that he hasn’t felt since he was a child. The man's offer of a job rings in his mind and he wonders if there is any truth to it. _

-/-

“ I’m gonna wait as long as it takes, Milton. I hope you know that. Even if my ass permanently sticks to this chair, I’m gonna stick this out. Even if I’m awful at this whole talking to you while you’re… asleep, stuff. I was talking about the wallpaper the other day, do you remember that?” 

A long period of silence fell. 

“ You’re a much stronger man than I could ever hope to be, babe.” 

-/-

_ He is forty-seven years old and he can’t sleep. The steady pulse of the heart monitor is drowned out by the loud hum of the television, but he is listening to neither of those things. He is staring at his clasped hands, and at Brackish’s limp fingers trapped between them.   _

_ ‘ He isn’t going to wake up, Dr. Isaacs. You need to let him go. He wouldn’t want this.’ Pamela O’Brien told him, a hand on his shoulder and pity in her eyes. And she is right, because he and Brackish have had this conversation before. This is the decision he should have made two years ago. _

_ Except that isn’t true, and Milton knows that now. The ventilator has been off for four hours and thirteen minutes and yet Brackish’s pulse remains steady. His chest still rises and falls, and every once in awhile his breath wheezed through his nose like it did whenever he laughs too hard. Milton feels too many things, and it weighs him down until he’s slumped back in his chair, clasped hands brought to his lips as if in a prayer. _

_ “ I gave up on you, baby- I… I’m so sorry.” _

_ Brackish still says nothing. _

_ " I won't- as long as it takes. Brackish. You take your time. I promise, I'll be here."  _

_ He chokes back a sob. _

_ " I promise." _

-/- 

“ You need to get some sleep, Doctor Okun.” 

“  _ You  _ need to fuck off.” 

“  I do not know the meaning behind this colloquialism, but I imagine that it is unkind. That is understandable. It was my presence that caused his near fatal injury, and it would be the reason that you are resistent to speaking with me.” 

“ Are you done?”

“ I just wished to inform you that I have been talking to Catherine Marceaux. She is very bright, and eager to learn more. I do not believe that I will need to speak to you, after all.” The words were straightforward, but the sphere whirred, as if it wasn’t quite sure of what it was saying.

“ Fine.” 

Long silence passed.

“ What is that that you are reading?” 

“... It’s, uh- called Harry Potter. It’s one of Milton’s favorite books, apparently. I’m reading it to him.” 

“ You were not saying anything.” 

“ Well, no. I don’t like to read in front of people.”   
  
“ But you’re reading to Doctor Isaacs.” 

“ That’s different, he’s not-” 

“ Why speak if you do not think he is listening?” 

  
“ That’s not what I was going to say. He _could_ be. And he did this for me when I was like this. Twenty years. I can read to him for a few days.”

“ You were catatonic because of your connection to the harvesters, is that correct? I am very surprised that you did not succumb when they did. Many affected minds do. For species not accustomed to the hive mind communication, it will usually burn out their 

“ I guess I was just lucky.”

“ You do not sound happy about that.” 

“ Look- I’ll talk to you when he wakes up. Just- leave me alone, okay? Leave us alone.”

-/-

_ He’s thirty one years old. _

_ “ I could stay here forever.”  Brackish murmurs, nuzzles his face into Milton’s shoulder, morning stubble and all. His eyes are lidded and Milton can see him staring at him out of the corner of his eyes, big blue eyes lidded, sleepy but intent. Milton wants to turn over and stare, take in the whole world that exists in those blue eyes, but Brackish’s arms are like a vice around him and so he sinks back instead. _

_ “ If you say in five minutes when your pills kick, I’ll believe you.” _

_ “ I’m serious. You know- I could stay here forever. I mean- in your room. We could move in together.” _

_ “ Brackish, you live next door.” _

_ “ Yeah, but- all of my pants are here.” He’s teasing, he’s smiling against the back of Milton’s neck and Milton tries not to laugh. There are butterflies in his stomach and he fumbles until he can wrap his fingers around Brackish’s and squeeze, as if to make sure he’s really there. _

_ “ Do you really want to move in?” _

_ “ Yeah, of course! Why wouldn’t I?”  _

_ “ I-”  He doesn’t know, but it scares him anyway.  _

_ “ I love you, baby.”  _

_ -/- _

“ Milton- baby, please.” 

-/-

_ He is six years old. _ _   
_ _ He is thirty five. _ _   
_ _ He is seventeen.  _ _   
_ _ He is forty five. _ _   
_ _ He is twenty six.   
_ _ He is forty seven. _ _   
_ __ He is thirty one.

_ He is sixty five years old and he doesn’t know if he will live to see sixty six. _

_ A week ago that thought would have scared him, but now it terrifies him, makes him want to scream and kick and fight, because a week ago he’s standing at the bedside of the man he loved telling him all about his knitting class and just when that same man finally opened his eyes- that is when fate decides that he might not see sixty-six.  _

_ He wants to see sixty-six. He wants to stand at the ocean with Brackish, he wants to walk outside with Brackish, he wants to tell Brackish all of the things he told him already. He wants to be there for every discovery, big and small, he wants to water the orchids and remind Brackish to put his pants on and fondly stare at Brackish and just  _ **_exist_ ** _ near Brackish.   
_ _   
_ __ He wants all of the things the first invasion stole from them.

_ -/- _

The monitors beeped.

Brackish snored, bent almost diagonally over the side of the bed. 

Milton’s eyes fly open.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! The next chapter will probably be up by the end of the week : )


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